Mama frowns at the photograph. “Are you sure? Lots of people have little dogs like that.”

I shake my head. “See that white patch on his forehead that looks like a snowflake and the white paws? That’s Baby for sure.”

Mama nods. “I think you’re right. Jewel must have taught piano.” Mama rubs her thumb across the photograph. “What in the world happened to you?” she asks the Jewel in the photograph. “What’s your story?”

“What’s in that notebook?” I ask Mama.

She blinks and looks down at the small leather book in her hand. On the inside, in a neat hand, is written Jewel Knight. I realize I’ve never known what her last name is.

Mama flips slowly through the yellowed, stained pages. “Looks like it’s all kinds of things: addresses, dates, a few phone numbers.” She frowns as she goes deeper inside the little book. “Then it sort of becomes a diary.” She looks over at me. “This last part is hard to read. Worse than your handwriting.”

I hold out my hand. “Can I see?”

She’s right: the first part seems like an address book, except most of the addresses and even a lot of the phone numbers have been marked through or rubbed out. There’s also notes that anyone would write: Call Lexington Power and Light about bill; Meet June at Marston Drugstore; talk to Dr. Benson about new medication; take Baby to vet. My heart leaps. “Look, Mama,” I say, pointing, “she mentions Baby!”

I try to read the scribbly writing Mama couldn’t read. It just seems like random thoughts not really connected to each other. God is everywhere and in everyone! Why does June hate me? My mother’s name was Jenny and she could never save a penny. I turn the pages, reading more. On one page she wrote in big letters, “The Sun is my Mother.” On the next page, in handwriting so tiny I can barely make it out, she wrote “the world is killing me.” I don’t know why, but tears come to my eyes. It’s like, in these pages, I’m seeing a person fall apart. A person who, before, could smile and sit up tall and proud; a person who touched other people.

I flip through the last few pages she’d written on. Most of it, even I can’t read. All I can make out are single words—hospital, light, sad, EUPHORIA (I’ll have to look that one up), God, home, stars, pain, gone, WHY?

And then, on the very last page, just two words: Baby. World.

I close the book. Baby is Jewel’s whole world. And I’m sure she is his too.

I love that little dog. I’d do just about anything if he could be mine. But I have my family. The way I see it, Jewel needs Baby more than I do.